Shadow Search. Don Pendleton

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      3

      Bolan had opened his travelling bag and spread the contents across the bed. His combat gear, blacksuit and boots. His combat harness already loaded and ready for action, the pockets holding additional magazines for the .44 Magnum Desert Eagle as well as the Beretta. A sheathed knife was fastened to the belt of the harness. In one of the pockets was a wire garrote. Another held a number of plastic wrist restraints. He checked the gear, then moved to the Uzi SMG, spending a few minutes stripping it down, checking that everything functioned. The soldier reassembled the weapon, then picked up a double magazine; one magazine taped to another for quick reloading. He snapped the magazine into its slot, cocked the weapon and set the safety. He had two more of the double magazines. These went into the small backpack he had brought, along with a small med-kit and some field rations. There was a canteen he would fill with water from his room fridge before he moved out. Satisfied he had everything he needed, Bolan packed the gear away in the bag and stowed it in the wardrobe, locking it and pocketing the key.

      It was now early evening. Since returning to his room Bolan had showered and dressed in fresh clothing. The gash on his cheek had stopped bleeding. It stung occasionally, reminding him of the day’s violent event. He decided it was time to eat, so he called room service and asked if they could send him up something light and a pot of coffee. He was promised something very shortly.

      Picking up his cell phone Bolan speed-dialed the Farm and waited until he heard the distant connection lock in. The voice that came on was instantly recognizable as Barbara Price’s.

      “How’s it going, Striker?” the mission controller asked.

      He told her about the bomb incident.

      “Sounds like you walked right into trouble.”

      “I’ve had pleasanter days. Has the Bear come up with anything on those names and the cell phone number I gave him?”

      “Hold on.”

      He heard paper rustling.

      “Aaron didn’t find anything very interesting on either man. They both look clean. Nkoya is down as a loyal member of the government. Backs President Karima all the way down the line. He does a lot of traveling on behalf of the Tempala administration. He was on some kind of government trip about three weeks ago to London and Paris.”

      “Sounds like a man who moves around a lot.”

      “I suppose.” Price hesitated. “You want to share that with me?”

      “Share what?”

      “Striker, I know the way your mind works. You can make the most casual remark sound like an accusation.”

      “Maybe I have a suspicious nature. Go with me on this. Have the Bear dig a little deeper. Look at Nkoya’s finances. See if he has anything tucked away. Money. Stock. You know the routine. Same with Simon Chakra, the military guy.”

      “There’s nothing on the cell phone number yet.”

      “Tell the Bear to stay with it.”

      “Okay. We’ll talk later.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Hey, Striker, you take care.”

      Bolan broke the connection and put the cell phone down. He stood for a while, staring at the phone. Was he being too suspicious? Looking for things that didn’t actually exist? If he was wrong no harm had been done. On the other hand…

      He heard the tap on his door. Room service. Bolan crossed the room and opened the door. The muzzle of an automatic pistol was thrust in his face.

      “Step away from the door,” the man holding the gun said.

      Bolan eased back, the man following. Without warning Bolan’s hands swept up, fingers clamping around the gunman’s wrist. The Executioner pulled the man toward him, half turning and throwing the gunman over his hip. The African gave a startled yell as he was hurled across the room. He hit the floor hard, the gun bouncing from his hand. He squirmed over on his back, bleeding from a split lip. He saw Bolan closing in and СКАЧАТЬ